


Snows of Home

by Ramzes



Series: Strangers in a Strange Land [3]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms
Genre: AU, Gen, Lyanna and Rhaegar is a sick romance, No Robert Rebellion, Rhaegar's wife not Elia Martell
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-11
Updated: 2018-11-29
Packaged: 2019-04-21 16:51:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14289207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ramzes/pseuds/Ramzes
Summary: Lyanna longs to return to Winterfell, to her father and brothers and the comfort of the home she had once known. And then, she does. And it's nothing like what she has dreamed.





	1. Chapter 1

"Summer snows are one of a kind."

Lyanna could not believe that she had said this – and to him, of all people. Blaze Gargalen, her… not quite jailor but not quite an escort either. She did not know what she should call him. He was certainly not her savior, and a good thing it was. At least he did not give her any false promises. Granted, this was because he barely talked to her about anything of any importance but still, he did not lie. Save for the handmaiden that she had been given upon leaving her prison, she had few people to talk to – the guards seemed instructed not to answer her questions – and while it reminded her of her time in Dorne quite uncomfortably, it seemed that they were headed home, as she had been told they would.

"How do you know they are summer snows?"

Lyanna gave him a look of indignation. "How could I not know? They're softer and not quite so gleaming, and…"

He shook his head and smiled – a real smile that stole her breath. After all these years in an isolated place with just Rhaegar and two Kingsguard to keep her company, she could recognize the yearning for socializing with others but still, he was young – somewhere her own age, and he was so handsome… He did not look like a Dornishman at all. Certainly nothing like the Princess Regent.

"Ben tried to explain the differences to me many times but to me, snow is snow is snow is snow. I've never seen any snow differing from the other. There is melting snow, and there is hard-packed snow, that's it."

Lyanna felt strangely disappointed. For some reason, she had hoped that he had never seen snow at all before. But she quickly rebounded when she remembered that summer snow meant that she was getting closer to home.

Blaze was looking at her curiously. "So, snow is something like a map showing the direction to you?"

Lyanna thought about this and nodded. "You can say so. The amount of snow here is almost equal to the snow I saw on my way to Harrenhal but the quality…" Her voice faded.

The silence stretched. The enchanted tale where Lyanna could pretend to be the guide to someone young and clueless gave way to the reality of the situation: she was going back home in shame after eloping with a married crown prince and he was her jailor. Her captor. The one sent with her to make sure that she would not try to escape and also, make sure that her father got their version of the truth. Her captors'.

She was going home just because of the so-called mercy of the woman who had kept her imprisoned for years as she had been busy to secure the stolen throne for her children and herself. And by the little words the two of them had exchanged, Lyanna Stark and Blaze Gargalen, she could say that he expected of her to be _grateful_ to his cousin, Alynna, the mother of the new King.

"I am told that we should near the region around Winterfell in a few days," Blaze said and this was the end of their conversation. In the darkening sky that brought out the faint shimmer of the summer storm, Lyanna was left to reflect on the welcome that she would find home. As much as she wanted to believe that she would be met with open arms and readiness to avenge her, Ben's words at their first meeting after all these years would not fade from her mind. He did not think there was anything to avenge. He thought there was blame – and he laid it at her door. _That's because the Dornishmen and women he has been living with have sickened his mind_ , Lyanna told herself but this sounded hollow, too.

How would her father greet her?

Winterfell met her with coldness that had nothing to do with the snow everywhere. Brandon was the first person she encountered after passing through the gates and heading for the living quarters and while he grabbed her and held her tight, a moment later he pushed her away and stared at her, the anger and pleading across his face playing a vicious battle. "They said you went willingly," were his first words and she nodded because suddenly, she could not say the word.

He seemed to read it in her eyes because his face became closed and the light in his eyes faded. "Come with me," he said. "Let Catelyn take care of you before you meet Father."

Lyanna looked down at her heavy travelling attire. Sometime in the last few hours, she had snapped her hood off to better feel the stinging caress of northern wind and her hair could attest to this. Under the cloak, her skirts were dusty and spotted by mud. Her shift was far from clean and she was sure that this could be smelt through the gown. "Yes," she agreed and for a moment let herself feel relieved by the familiar routine – trying to look the perfect lady as not to anger her lord father more when she had misstepped.

It lasted until she felt the eyes on her, the eyes of those people who recognized her. Cold. Accusing. Avoiding hers. Full of fear. No benevolent smiles or whispers at how Lady Lya was in trouble again. The Dornish girl next to her shivered when many of those looks meant for Lyanna fell on her, albeit occasionally. "Are you going to cry?" Lyanna snapped and immediately regretted it. The girl had been a good and experienced handmaiden and not a bad company.

In the chambers next to Brandon's, a young woman rose to meet her, her face carefully blank. Lyanna was stunned at how pretty and feminine Catelyn Tully looked. She had always imagined a southern lady wife, a passionless fish, nothing like the girls Brandon had chased once. This one looked like a woman whom many men would chase. But her courtesy and lack of any warmth were those of a true lady wife – disapproving, scared that another girl might try the same thing Lyanna had committed with her won husband. Lyanna felt a brief pity for Brandon but did not refuse Lady Catelyn's help, recognizing that it would make things harder.

Half along the way, she came to realize that Old Nan who had tucked her in bed in her childhood, tutted disapprovingly, told her wild tales of wights and romance, did not have a word for her. Just the silent obedience that a servant owed to a mistress and that had never been a thing between them. "Nan," she started but the old woman pretended not to hear. _I'll make things right with her later,_ Lyanna thought. After all, for all her disapproval, Nan had never been able to stay angry with her for long. Even her father had never carried out his punishments till the end.

This time, though, everything was different. She had never seen him this stern… or this old. She stopped dead on her tracks at the threshold, realizing all too late just how much wrong she had done. The Lord of Winterfell had never been meant for looking so old, so reconciled. Even the fierce anger hidden behind his icy exterior could not lend him life.

Brandon was sitting in a high-backed chair at their father's right. For the first time, he was a fellow judge and not Lyanna's accessory in her dealings with their lord father. She was startled to see Blaze Gargalen seated in another chair, well apart from her family. The coldness between them almost chilled the solar despite the huge fire burning in the fireplace.

"He's part of this," her father said, noticing her look. "I am just not quite sure how. I want to know how the two of you found yourselves together. I want to know what our agreement with the Princess Regent has turned into."

Bitterness rose in Lyanna. He would not even give her the consideration of listening to her side of the story. He only cared about his game of politics and not his daughter at all.

Then again, Lyanna's care for herself had been more than enough already. She remembered the eyes of those who had known her before and no longer wished to. She had not disappointed her father alone.

Blaze did not stir or look at her. But Ben had introduced him as his friend and he had told her much about Ben's time in Dorne. His struggles. His adventures. Could Lyanna put all of this to risk because of her own feelings? Again?

"They… his family and him found me as I washed on the shores of Dorne when I ran away from Essos," she finally said. "I was near drowned. There was a savage storm and I was left without the few coins I had about my person… Two fishermen took me to their village and the maester of Salt Shore made some guesses about my identity due to my resemblance to Benjen and so…"

She went on with the tale that sounded quite convincing – to her own ears. Blaze was staring at her in a way that showed her that he was barely keeping his mouth from falling open and Lyanna almost yelled at him to stop looking so surprised. Did he not see that she was trying to _save_ the peace this time? Wasn't this peace the justification his family used for the wrong that they had done her? For destroying her reputation and turning her into a whore who had turned her back to her family to live in love bliss with a married prince? For robbing her of _years_ of her life? She might not hate _him_ but the rest of them, she would happily shoot off with an arrow herself.

But Winterfell clearly desired this peace. The fear in the people's eyes… it was not of her but _because_ of her. Because they thought she had come to wreak new destruction or at least were scared that she had. Brandon had almost died in his attempt to right the wrong done to her and Lyanna was stunned that she could only _feel_ it now when she had _known_ it from the very beginning.

At least then, she had been a child. Now, she had no such excuse, no matter the very sensible reasons that she had listed to Ben. Here, they suddenly felt less true. She had only one way of righting this: she had to avoid creating further tension between the North and the regent at King's Landing, no matter how the woman had come to this office. So she kept spinning the tale.

Until Blaze interrupted her. "It's a good tale," he announced, giving her a look that held none of the admiration she had hoped to see. "It only has one flaw: it's blatantly false."

And then, to Lyanna's stunned mortification, he proceeded to tell the truth without any hint of fear or shame.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thank you to everyone who commented!

At the time she had left with Rhaegar, Lyanna had been very careful not to ask too many questions because she had preferred not to know the answers. Most of those had concerned Alynna Gargalen, of course, and in the beginning, she had been just too uncomfortable to ask; over time, the thought had lost its urgency as the lady's opinions faded in the shadow of her thickened body and weary eyes. Alynna had had nothing to do with love and freedom. She had been a different part of Rhaegar's life entirely. The wife.

As months and years had gone by, Lyanna had found herself desperately eager to make up for this omission, find out how the Dornishwoman's possessive, jealous, grasping mind worked. But no one would tell her. Even Ben would get angry at the merest hint that Alynna was not perfect; now, Lyanna had her best chance at finding out what had moved her tormentor and how, so she listened to what Blaze said with sharp attention, so sharp that she could not look away from his lips. The urge to avenge herself on all of them through her father's anger that had kept her sane all this time had disappeared all of a sudden. She did not even look at him to see his surprise and fury. Her entire world had become this calm, even voice describing the events that had snatched the control over her life from her and had turned it into bare, desolate, empty existence.

"So your sister lied to us even as she negotiated this alliance?" Brandon demanded, predictably; Lyanna glanced at him and saw how red his face had become.

"Cousin," Blaze corrected him and Lyanna felt an irrational twist of anger. Brandon could have at least taken care to study the family ties within the House they had sent Ben to! "But yes, she did, if you wish to see it as a lie."

"Is there any other way to see it?" Brandon was still admirably controlled but Lyanna thought it was nothing compared to the control Blaze displayed. He was alone in the midst of enemies that he had just triggered badly, yet he remained as courteous and composed as he had been through their entire journey.

"I see it as a precaution," Blaze replied. "We now know Benjen and know you to be trustworthy allies. But at the time, all that we had seen of your House was Lady Lyanna's behavior… and forgive me for saying so, but she had given us precious little reason to think that she would not try and displace Alynna as Prince Rhaegar's wife and mother to his heir. That you would not support such a bid."

Lyanna gasped at the casual way he said it. This had also been one of her dreams – her father finding them somehow, releasing them, fighting a war to restore good and order and strip the Dornishwoman of the crown and power she had grabbed without any right. It had been so sweet to imagine herself wearing a golden circlet taken straight from Alynna's head and force the woman watch her coronation with chains oh her hand and feet – but hearing it spelled out clearly here, in the solid warmth held between the walls of Winterfell and the whiteness of snow outside, it sounded nothing if not ridiculous. But when she glanced at her father, she startled because at the moment she was parting with a dream that had sustained her, he was starting to see the picture that the Dornish boy was painting. The advantages. The prestige. The power. What could have been. Alynna Gargalen had taken this from him and to add insult to injury, her cousin was specifying what Rickard had lost.

Her father's lips became the thin line that Lyanna so hated. "Are you telling me that Lady Alynna thought I would do such a thing?"

Blaze shook his head. "No. I'm saying that she thought you _might_. This was bad enough for her. Everyone agreed."

_But not you._

Where did this thought come from? Lyanna rummaged through her mind and caught it: he wasn't saying anything this different than what Ben had told her. Adding nothing and omitting nothing. The two boys had been told the same tale. Blaze had not known. Lyanna felt first relief and then anger. At herself. What did it _matter_ what he had known? He had not known _her_ at the time. And he would not offer her the freedom to choose her own life. Him. Not that she would have fallen for this. Never again.

"And you decided to build alliance on a lie?"

Blaze paused before answering. Lyanna was starting to understand why they had sent him. "Only until it was safe to tell the truth," he said.

"If you think you're safe, then you're a fool," Brandon interrupted, anger rising high in his cheeks. "A bigger fool than the ones you turned us into!"

"Be quiet!" their father snapped and to Lyanna's amazement, Brandon did go quiet indeed, something like shame making him look down, just for a moment. "We have a union to preserve, or have you forgotten?"

Just like this, Lyanna wanted to weep, for all that she told herself she wanted this peace. He would have fought for her at the time – but he would have fought for his ambitions as well! Now, he did not even wish to avenge her. Not that she wanted vengeance – or even thought that vengeance was truly merited, to be honest – but it would have been nice to see him try.

She walked back to her chambers under so many curious, silent eyes that her defiance leapt to life like a wild fire. Holding her head high, she chose the much longer route through the open courtyard where more people would see her. She would not let herself be cowered by the inhabitants of Winterfell, of all people! She would not wilt under their disapproval…

"Do you need something?" Catelyn asked when Lyanna finally made it to her chambers. Unwilted.

"No, thank you," Lyanna replied and all of a sudden felt how tired she was. She looked around. "You've had my chambers prepared for me in such a short time. Thank you."

Catelyn smiled, albeit in a strained way. "It was kept in order. The women only needed to give the floors a slight wash and clean the dust, and it was ready."

She meant it in a good way, Lyanna could see this. But this was yet another blow to her, showing how much the life in Winterfell had changed while she had been away. Since her mother's death, the mistress of the household had determined that cleaning those chambers that no one dwelled in once a month was enough. Catelyn clearly thought otherwise and she had enforced her rules. She was the mistress of Winterfell now, in deed if not name, and Lyanna felt it as another encroachment of something belonging to her. Not that she had ever shown any interest in managing a household but… this had been her household if she would have ever wish to manage it. Now, it was too late for this, as it was for so many other things. Lyanna had noticed more tapestries, brighter colours, fresh adornments wherever she went. Winterfell had a lady again and unlike Lyanna, this one was not lady in name alone.

"Is it warm enough?" Catelyn asked. "I tried to make the bedchamber fit for living as soon as you left but…"

"It's fine," Lyanna said. "Thank you."

It was most definitely not fine. Lyanna could hardly wait to remain alone, so she could douse the flames off and start a new fire, much smaller. She wondered how many people in this castle suffered under Catelyn's perception of warm and cold silently. But her goodsister's attentions were nice to see and she smiled gratefully. "Really, I thank you."

Awkward silence fell and dragged on. What could the two of them talk about? Lyanna had never had much contact with other highborn girls and the limited one that she had experienced had revealed that she did not feel comfortable around them. They were too… feminine. Too much of a girl. Catelyn seemed to share most of their interests and Lyanna could not think of anything to say. Besides, she was not sure that her goodsister was not _pitying_ her. Which was unacceptable, pure and simple.

Finally, Catelyn rose to leave. "I'll leave you to your rest, then," she said. "The girls will be there any moment now to help you with whatever you need."

This was not good news. Lyanna frowned. "Where is Nan?" she asked. She was eager to make things right with Nan, if not anyone else. Right now, her father seemed almost as angry with her as he must have been when he had learned of her disappearance.

Catelyn looked uncomfortable. "She's… busy," she said. "I'll see you later."

But Lyanna would have no more lies and unspoken truths. "Wait!" she said. "Where is she?"

Catelyn hesitated, crossed to the fireplace, and extended her arms to get them warm. "She's praying for her sons," she finally said. "Every day. This time of the day."

Lyanna's jaw dropped. She immediately grasped what Catelyn was telling her and her determination to fight her way back to acceptance faded all of a sudden when she realized that there had already been a fight for her… and Nan's sons had died in it.

For a while, she was grateful to Catelyn for her ridiculous overheating – until she realized that even with this fire and all the covers and furs that she could find, she could not stop shaking.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who left a comment and sorry about the long delay!

 "Would you like to stay with me?"

The young Dornishwoman did not understand at first – and then, she looked surprised that Lyanna had asked such a question. Lyanna could hardly believe it herself but the fourth day of her return was fading away slowly, the snow in the courtyard going dark, and still she felt as much of a stranger here as the old Kings of Winter. In fact, the crypts had offered her more hospitality than her own onetime chambers. The statues were quiet, so they did not go fall silent at her appearance; they were cold and just as unfriendly to her as they were to everyone else and no more. And they were unchanged, unlike everything else about Winterfell. Unlike the way people looked at her even as they attended her…

But still – the handmaiden from Dorne? The one who had appeared like a ghost one morning at Lyanna's awaking, served her earnestly but not very skillfully, in the beginning, and was also charged with keeping an eye on her? Her jailor, kind of? A girl who had only been answerable to Blaze? Was she really offering her a job?

The young woman shook her head. "Thank you, m'lady, but I can't accept. My betrothed is waiting for me back at the Tor and I promised Lady Ilana that I'd be back in no more than four months."

"If I raise your wages to double the ones you receive there?" Lyanna insisted.

The Dornish girl did not hesitate. "My life is there, m'lady. The preparations for my wedding will start as soon as I return. Serving you brought me enough coin to build a house and start my new life there, as soon as I wed."

Lyanna's despair grew as she watched the other girl fuss over garments and chests. She had truly thought that she would be able to convince her – and then have someone who depended on her, was loyal to her alone, and apart from the silent enmity Winterfell raised against her like a shield. Her Winterfell which was no longer hers. The intensity of her longing to return here came to her like a cruel echo. In fact, she had found herself isolated worse than she had ever been in Dorne. There, she had had no one to talk to but Rhaegar and the men who had stood by as he had lured her into ruining her life; here, people let her talk but no one truly listened. Now, she could go everywhere but the reception that she found made her only want to hide in her chambers – which, of course, she would never do, although leaving this sanctuary became harder every day.

"What is she like?" she asked unexpectedly, even for herself. "This Lady Ilana. My brother is going to wed her, as you know."

The girl's narrow face lit up and she almost dropped the skirt she was holding. "Oh, your brother is very lucky, m'lady! She has silver hair and eyes like amethysts. Even the Maiden would envy her beauty. And she's kind to her friends and generous and gracious to her servants."

_Just wait until she does something to anger them,_ Lyanna thought cynically. _Was I not kind, generous and gracious? What did it count for at the end?_ "She is also lucky," she said sharply after a moment, realizing with shock and horror that from now on, Ben's life would pass in exclamations and congratulations at how lucky he was. Always in the second place. Second to his lady wife. A Stark of Winterfell! "My brother is someone she should feel proud to wed."

"She's quite fond of him," the young Dornishwoman said cautiously and Lyanna was ready to claw her eyes out. But why? It was only natural. Her loyalties lay with the mistress she knew.

"You seem to know her very well," she said after a moment.

"I was a child when Lady Alynna took me to the Tor when she wed. My mother had died and my father had just remarried. I was no longer welcome there and m'lady chose me to accompany her and train me to be her first daughter's personal servant when she was blessed with one. Fortunately, she was blessed right away."

"Lady Alynna seems to be blessed right away in everything she wants," Lyanna muttered and did not add the betrayal part. Because she was afraid. Afraid that she'd annoy a handmaiden!

"Indeed she is." The tone was even but the girl turned back to her work without saying anything. What was there to be said?

"Wait," Lyanna said when the Dornishwoman was already leaving. "What's your name? I never asked."

"Isa, m'lady," the young woman replied. "After Lady Isanne, the mistress of Salt Shore," she added proudly and left Lyanna to reflect if there would ever be a child in Winterfell named after her and proud of it.

* * *

 

The laughter reached her as she was emerging from the godswood and it took her some time to spot the source of the merriment but when she did, she laughed as well. In the courtyard, a few guards and a couple of servant maids were vastly amused by the clinking of the ancient Stark sword against the frozen ground, so compact that it reflected the sound as powerfully and purely as a marble floor. _Clink, clink, clink._ A little boy, auburn of hair and blue of eyes, had it propped against his shoulder and was dragging it behind himself – there was no other way to take it with him. This was the first time Lyanna saw Brandon's son but there was no doubt who he was. He did not look like his father at all and for a moment, Lyanna wondered if the Kings of Winter would recognize his statue one day – he was so unlike them. A future Stark lord with none of the Stark looks – yet another change that had taken place during her absence. Lyanna could remember Ben at this age, stealing Ice in attempt to wield her. She had been told that she had also done it at the time. She was surprised at the powerful feeling of love and affection that swelled in her – and for the first time, she thought that perhaps not having Rhaegar's child was not such a good thing, after all.

Little Robb Stark – by the old gods, she could still hardly believe that Brandon had named his heir after Robert! – looked infuriated by the laughter. All of a sudden, he stopped, stomped his foot on the ground, fell under the weight of the greatsword, rose, put it back, and said angrily, "When I grow up… I'll swing it here and there… You will all see!"

"For now," her father said grimly, appearing all of a sudden, "I don't want to see Ice out of her place. You are now about to return her there, Robert. With no one's help."

The boy was not stupid enough to argue but when he passed by Lyanna, struggling but determined under his burden, she saw his wide smile. Clearly, he was well aware that his grandfather wasn't really angry. Lyanna was ready to bet that by next week, Ice would be disturbed once again, although he'd do his best to remain unnoticed. She smiled – and then her smile died when she realized that this was the behavior that she had expected of her father – not immediately but by now, surely. He has found someone else to scold and spoil, Lyanna thought and this realization left her frozen in her seat. If there was another child in Winterfell, getting all the benevolence and patience that she had thought her right, then… then she could not expect to be allowed to stay a child. She would be treated like an adult. No forgiving. No forgetting. No waving it away.

People were still laughing and saying things like strong blood, a lad of will, a future warlord. No one turned to Lyanna to share their merriment. She felt like the loneliest soul on earth until she saw a full head of brown hair and amused blue eyes who did not avoid hers. A small wisp of warmth made its way through her heart at the thought that he, of all people, suddenly made her feel better. He. The Dornishman.

* * *

 

Lyanna was waiting for Ned's arrival with longing and horror – and all too often, horror was the dominating emotion. Brandon's avoidance was even more hurtful than her father's, or perhaps it was hurtful in a different way. She could hardly bear to think what Ned would be like.

"So, his relationship with Robert had not suffered over my… deed?" she asked and Catelyn looked up from the parchments on her table. It was another thing in her goodsister that surprised Lyanna and she was not sure that she liked it. To Catelyn, friendships could not simply be felt, they had to be cultivated and maintained, so there was a morning every week that was dedicated just to her letters. Writing to her many acquaintances and receiving their answers – Lyanna could not imagine that every week, there was something new and interesting that people truly wished to write about. It felt like formality to her but Catelyn adhered to it as religiously as she did to her Faith of the Seven, Isa had reported.

Still, Catelyn was the only one who did not outright give Lyanna the cold shoulder, so Lyanna was willing to overlook many things and never talk about them – a hard thing for a girl who had never hesitated before expressing her mind before, for sure!

"It did," Catelyn replied calmly and sipped from her tea. Lyanna was getting used to the too sweet taste, just like she was getting used to the small piece of South that was Catelyn's solar. "For a while. But eventually, things smoothed over. Some friendships are not tenacious enough to endure such a blow, albeit not struck by any of the people involved. Fortunately, theirs was not one of those. Sarra Baratheon writes that Ned has left the day she sent the raven, after celebrating her daughter's birth with Robert and the rest of the people in Storms End. I expect that in three weeks, we'll see him here. Four, at most."

Lyanna swallowed but decided not to think about the sentence that was now delayed by a definite period. Instead, she indulged her curiosity. "Do you know her well?" she asked. "Robert's wife? Did you know her before?"

Catelyn shook her head. "I knew _about_ her," she clarified. "She didn't have much luck in her life. She lost a husband and three children together. They say that when the Princess Regent approached her about wedding her to Robert, she was under constant watch to make sure that she would not take her own life away. I don't know if this rumour is true and I didn't ask, of course, but I can't imagine…" The very thought of losing Brandon, her son, or the child she was told to be carrying was too terrible to contemplate.

_I suppose that after this, Robert's whores won't bother her this much,_ Lyanna thought and wondered how on earth had Robert dealt with a wife like this. She had known that he'd be unable to make her happy and she had not wanted or needed this much. This Sarra Martell sounded like a handful, although, of course, through no fault of her own. "Are they happy?" she asked anyway. After all, she had never wished unhappiness on Robert.

Catelyn nodded. "They always seem to be on good terms when I see them," she said. "People say that he might be visiting other women, kind of like he did before his wedding, but no one knows for sure. I can only say that if there are others, they don't matter at all. To him, she is the only one."

_Fortunately for him, she is from Dorne_ , Lyanna thought but even this did not help her wonder if love had not changed this man's nature, after all. She had thought him unable to keep to one bed for sure and even less able to keep his undiscretions under the wraps.

For the first time, she thought that her father might still have some plans for her in this web of alliances and friendships that Catelyn was so meticulous in maintaining. And this notion made her blood curdle.

 


	4. Chapter 4

The letters came just two days later – two of them, one addressed at Lord Rickard and one at Catelyn. As soon as Lyanna saw the sigil of Storm’s End, she felt a premonition that had her shift her weight and bite her lip as her father unfolded the scroll. Before looking at the words, he hesitated and Lyanna’s skin crawled. But then he nodded, determinedly, and as he read the message, his face brightened. He left the paper and closed his eyes briefly.

When he looked at the silent hall, he looked surprised that there were people still there. “There was a fire in Storm’s End, in the main living quarters” he said in his usual voice. “Eddard is fine, Lady Sarra and her children are, fortunately, unscathed. There were some dead knights and women and Robert seems to have suffered some burns but fortunately, they were minor ones…”

The feeling of relief around the high table was palpable. Lyanna was pleased that there had been no casualties in big number, of course, but staring at the faces around, she felt that she was missing something. The relief was too great for the occasion. She wanted to ask what was going on but knowing that she’d only reveal herself as ignorant as little Robb stopped her. No one would smile indulgently at her naïvete and enlighten her.

“I take it that my cousin is unscathed as well?” Blaze asked. “Elia Hightower,” he elaborated. “She went to be with Lady Sarra at the time she gave birth.”

“My son doesn’t mention  anything about her,” Rickard replied and Blaze nodded.

“So there’s nothing worth mentioning,” he said, glanced at Lyanna and seemed to be the only person at this table who noticed her confusion or bothered to address it. “It would have caused considerable frictions in a region that was never this peaceful to start with if some of the esteemed visitors had suffered harm. Lady Tyrell was there, with some ladies from both sides of the Dornish Marches. This demonstration of friendship could have easily turned into a new bout of enmity and suspicion if there had been someone of note who had died or been seriously injured. Both sides would have called arson and attempted murder. All the progress we have achieved in the last few years would have unraveled fast.”

Brandon huffed but did not express disagreement. Lyanna wondered how real this progress was if it could be so easily unraveled but at the same time, she felt relief that she could not find the source of – until she saw her goodsister’s eyes fixed on her, thoughtful and suspicious.

* * *

“What is your problem with me?”

“What?” Catelyn asked absent-mindedly. “There is no… is this a stain? I thought this one was in pristine state… Set it aside,” she ordered and the white linen towel went to the massive pile of cloth pieces that needed some mending. “What were you saying?” she asked, turning back to Lyanna.

The younger woman heaved a sigh of impatience. It was the third time she tried to raise the subject and the last one, she had thought Catelyn was being deliberately obtuse. Now, she was coming to realize that to her goodsister, their conversation was far less important than the sorting of the huge amounts of bedsheets, covers, linens, towels, and tablecloths in a closet that spanned the entire space behind one of the walls in Catelyn’s bedchamber. When Lyanna had offered to help with the inspection, she had imagined it like a good opportunity to have a conversation with someone who was unfailingly polite and kind to her. She had certainly not expected the mountain of cloth that would cover the entire bed and four tables brought in specifically for the purpose. And the three handmaidens summoned to help were hardly conducive for a heart-to-heart.

Lyanna sought hard in her memory to remember how these things had been arranged in her childhood. She was too young to remember how her lady mother had conducted this business, of course, but Igara who had been in charge of the household affairs had certainly never made such inspections, at least not regularly. Or if she had, Lyanna had not been informed. Of course, she knew where the linens stood but she had only seen the doors open when she had opened them herself, usually to seek out ghosts and spiders in her competition with Ben. The space behind had always looked vast and dark, and threatening. Full of secrets. It was still just as vast and so deep that daylight only reached this far but there was nothing threatening about it. Just a huge empty space. Lyanna opened a drawer and realized that this was where the fabric for her smallclothes had come from. She had never asked where the seamstresses took their materials from.

This sea of fabrics overwhelmed her. She felt that they could never arrange it back. But Catelyn and the handmaidens looked in their element as they unfolded each garment and cloth and inspected it critically to decide If they should put it aside for mending, or fold it right back.

“How often do you make this inspection?” Lyanna asked.

“Every three months,” Catelyn replied and pulled a face. “Even one month later encourages molluscs and mould to grow. When I came to Winterfell, I found…” She cut her reply short and Lyanna wondered if she, too, did not fear Igara, just a little. The thought was strangely comforting, even if she felt stung that Catelyn dared criticize anything about Winterfell. “You’re very good at organizing the linens,” Catelyn went on, looking at Isa. “Do you have any experience with it?”

“Once, I partook in arranging Lady Gargalen’s closets, my lady,” the young woman replied. “But you have some wonderful things here as well. This river pattern is so lovely.” She stroked a pillowcase lovingly. “I’ve seen the likes before. They go to what Lady Isanne calls the river chambers, to complement the walls and furniture.”

Lyanna blinked. Like every girl, she liked a nice pattern on a gown but this much attention to a pillow case? Still, even she realized that some of the things – many of the things here – were new. Brought by Catelyn? Was she expected to bring such things to the husband her father would undoubtedly find her? Had she been expected to bring them to Storm’s End? She realized that she had never given the details of the marriage any thought at all. Just the idea that she would lose her freedom and would be chained to a man who would shame and disrespect her. Even now, she could see no way for her to have accepted Robert’s way. Nothing he could have done would have compensated for straying.

“What’s your problem with me?” she asked again when Catelyn stood before the first door of the closet and started putting back the linens deemed good enough. After consulting with a list, of course, to make sure that nothing had gone amiss. “Don’t tell me it’s nothing,” she went on when she saw that Catelyn was about to deny. “Ever since we heard about the fire at Storm’s End, you have been like this and I don’t understand why. Why do you look at me like this when you think I won’t notice?”

Catelyn sighed and for the first time looked her straight in the eye. “Because I wonder what’s going on between you and the Dornish youth,” she said and Lyanna gasped.

“What?”

Her goodsister was clearly embarrassed by the entire conversation, so she sped on to get it over with. “I’ve seen how you look at him. And he’s always ready to indulge you, make you comfortable and whatnot…”

“You mean, treat me like a human being?” Lyanna challenged but lowered her voice anyway. “That’s all you need to think that there is something going on?”

“He’s betrothed,” Catelyn hissed and Lyanna felt a strange pang and disappointment that was, for some reason, directed at Blaze himself as much as his circumstances. “And if something happens…”

“What do you think is going to happen?” Lyanna asked angrily before realizing how she sounded and then, her voice simply caught in her throat. From now on, it would be forever like this. What was considered sweet and romantic in other girls would always be looked upon with suspicion and expectation of something untoward happening. She had been dreading the inevitability of marriage that would come to her nonetheless; it had never occurred to her that even the small joys of ladies her age would be forbidden to her – or at least viewed as something monstrous.

“Let me put these in place,” she said, reaching for the small basket with herbs that would protect the fabrics from insects and bad smell. She dearly wished she had never started this conversation.

* * *

Lyanna’s first impulse was to rush downstairs. She could certainly be in the courtyard before the small group that was now passing through the gates, their cloaks and heavy hats turning white with the faint snow. What stopped her was the fear of the reaction she would get. She loved Ned dearly but they were not one of a kind, not the way she had been with Brandon – and no longer was. If Ben and Brandon had changed this much, and changed their attitude to her as well, what could she expect of Ned? Robert was still his best friend! He had hoped to have him as a family, officially, and Lyanna had spoiled this – and in such a manner! In a way, Ned was much like their lord father and this far, their father had shown her nothing of the old exasperated benevolence that she had taken for granted.

Eventually, she made her way to her father’s solar. In the hallways, people no longer looked away from her but no one smiled at her either and she felt relief when she closed the door behind her… and then, she forgot everything as she threw herself at Ned. He squeezed her hard before letting go.

“You’re well,” he said hoarsely. “They said you were but I couldn’t quite believe it.”

Lyanna felt a surge of relief. She would not have to explain and see the turn of his emotions turn from defensiveness of her to the realization that politics should reign supreme. Someone had already done this and this could only be Robert’s Dornish wife – Lyanna imagined what the woman had said about her but she did not care. She was happy only to watch Ned and listen to him as he explained about the accident.

“It was a bizarre accident, a damned bad luck,” he said emphatically. “As far as they could ascertain when the fire was extinguished, it was just one of the castle cats dragging a chair cover around to play. It brought the fabric near the fireplace… and that was it. The poor animal’s body was found under the table. It must have thrown itself on the floor and rolled around to extinguish the flames…” He shuddered. “It could have been much worse. Everyone from both sides of the Dornish Marches had gathered to show their goodwill. If someone had died…”

“You told me that Robert was the only one who suffered injuries,” Rickard said. “What happened?”

Ned did not reply immediately. When he did speak, there was wonder in his face and disbelief in his words. “I didn’t think he had it in him,” he said. “I mean, I know he loves her but still… It’s obvious that he does. But he was so angry when she told us about Lya – she decided that if the Princess Regent has decided to let her go, she could assuage my fears right away, instead of having me wait. Robert summoned me and had her tell me instead of doing it himself – I think he rather enjoyed watching her discomfort! I could say he was furious with her. No man likes to discover that he has been made a fool with his lady wife’s knowledge – although she swore she did not know about it at the time of her wedding. I don’t know if I believe her.”

“Why not?” Catelyn asked sharply. “I know men like to think that everyone in the world deems them important enough to constantly play games to weaken them but knowing what you know about Lady Sarra’s circumstances at the time, do you think anyone would have cared to add to her burden? They would have told her only what she needed to know at the time.”

As much as Lyanna wanted to think that Alynna had spun a thick web around her to keep her prisoner, she had to admit that Catelyn had a point. Not that she expected of Robert to see it when even Ned, her kind Ned, did not.

Ned smiled at Catelyn with the fondness of now long familiarity. “You may well have a point. Anyway, as Robert watched her squirm, the screaming started. The fire. Lady Sarra forgot all about me and rushed for the burning wing, screaming that her children’s portraits were there. Robert caught her and she started fighting him – I couldn’t believe it when she bled him with her nails. She tried to bite him. She had turned into a wild animal… Well, she had,” he added defensively when Catelyn glared at him. “So he pushed her into my arms and entered the fire himself. Honestly, I thought he was mad! All the chambers were burning. I thought he was a goner but he returned with only a few burns.”

“But did he save the portraits?” Catelyn asked as Lyanna held her breath.

He nodded. “He did. They were only slightly damaged around the frames – it turned out that they were made through some new technique, with oil paints on wood – but the images were untouched. A few days later, he told me that he would send men to her first husband’s family to ask if there were any more images of the children and if she could have them. The way he spoke, it was almost as if this was more important than repairing the damages of the fire.”

 _It was,_ Lyanna thought and marveled at how Robert could have understood it but Ned could not. In the firelight, he looked younger and very much like the youth who had assured her that once she wed Robert, things would change for the better. Even then, she had known that the very fact of the wedding would not make any difference. But this often repeated memory failed to summon the usual bitterness. Right now, she enjoyed the feeling of being included in this family gathering, as briefly as this might last.

 

 


End file.
